


Some strange storm

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [35]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke, Han, and Leia in the years between Yavin and Hoth</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some strange storm

The base is riotous that evening. Luke’s never had so many people smack him in the back: hearty congratulations, dumbstruck awe a first-time X-wing pilot pulled it off, pleas to officially join their squad.

They shove an awful lot of alcohol in his face and when asked to see the medal, he takes it off and does not see it again. ( _It is returned to him, several days later, though he’d already forgotten it_.)

He’s really glad Han’s back and even after thanking him profusely for getting the last ships off his tail, still finds Han reminding him he owes him big time.

Yeah, yeah, he’ll get to that and thanks Han the fourth ( _or is it the fifth?_ ) time.

He gladly accepts every new drink they hand him, but keeps an eye out for Leia. She should be there celebrating; it’s her victory too. He argues mentally with himself: she is a princess of Alderaan; she has to keep her distance.

Yet when she does finally appear, he is not surprised.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am, your –”

He stops short, unsure of how to address her. He doesn’t want to sound like Han, but she _is_ a princess and things are different now they don’t have Imperial guns trained directly at their backs.

“Leia. You can call me Leia.”

“Leia.”

It isn’t the first time talking to her feels completely natural ( _and it may just be the booze_ ), but he doesn’t quite feel like the awkward kid from the farm.

“He’s certainly enjoying himself,” Leia says tartly, looking in Han’s direction. He’s on another round of shots, courtesy of the rest of the squadron, conveniently forgetting he ran before he came back.

“Yeah,” he replies lamely, wishing they weren’t redirecting the conversation to Han.

Leia knits her brow, “I don’t want you to feel rushed, but the Alliance has Biggs Darklighter’s things. We need to send them back to his parents, but I think it would be better coming from you. As I understand it, you knew him back home.”

She says ‘home’ and it all comes to a crashing halt. He’s barely slept more than a few hours over the past three days and the adrenaline that’s sustained him through it is gone. He mourned for Ben because he lost a chance to really learn about his father, but Biggs is dead, Uncle Owen is dead, Aunt Beru is dead, his childhood left behind in dust.

There is no home. He’s not even wearing his own coat.

He has to convince himself: this isn’t a heroic journey to save the galaxy ( _though plenty of people will tell him it is in years to come_ ); he left because there was nothing left.

Leia has an odd look on her face, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Guilt washes over him. How could he be so unthinking? She doesn’t have a home either. She may be way smarter than him and has actually done something with her life, but they’ve both come of age the hard way in the past few days.

There is nothing for him to farm and she is a princess of nothing.

“No, I’ll do it.”

She grabs his hand; he squeezes. It is unconscious.

He will send Biggs’ scant belongings back to his parents. He’ll leave a note, just in case no one has, to see to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru.

There is no going home again.

( _The stars drive a hard bargain._ )

\----------

Leia spends most of her time in and out of meetings. Vaden Willard is almost always at her side. They have already seen and spoken to a hundred refugees; it will be thousands before the end. While she appreciates that her father’s old friend looks out for her and helps her bear the burden, she needs to be alone.

Carlist Rieekan relays that they are to expect more of the scattered remains of Alderaan within hours.

That’s it. She needs an hour, thirty minutes, five.

“Excuse me, Generals, I will be back shortly.”

She retreats from the room quickly, before anyone can argue otherwise. Father would be disappointed. A good politician stays, hears everything out.

 _Father_.

She is used missing mother, but father is fresh in her memory. Before she left Alderaan for the last time ( _if only she had known_ ), he reminded her to not take any risks in reaching General Kenobi.

She hadn’t and she was still captured, and father and all of Alderaan died.

There was no need to cry in prison. Execution was to reunite her with them. Then Luke, Chewbacca, and Captain Solo were her reprieve and, suddenly, she doesn’t know how to cry for any of them.

She doesn’t go to her quarters. If she cannot bring herself to return to the meeting, it is the first place they will look, and she does not want to be found.

She considers the command center. If she is failing her people at the moment, she can at least be useful in the relocation of the Alliance. ( _It is only a matter of time before the Empire reaches them all again._ )

She finds herself in the hangar, walking towards Luke’s X-wing. She’s read his file: nineteen, no remaining family. It could be her own.

Luke is under his ship; thank the gods Captain Solo isn’t there.

He spots her and scrambles to get up.

“Don’t, don’t! I just came out to see how you were doing,” she protests.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Luke blushes and rebusies himself; she looks away. ( _She hopes she wasn’t as obvious with Ulic Alde._ )

She realizes what she should have said a week ago. A week ago, she wouldn’t have meant it.

“And thank you, for rescuing me.”

Even under the carriage, she can tell he’s blushing again, but for a different reason.

“It wasn’t much,” he mumbles.

That’s the truth. Barely thought out, more a failure than a success, but she’s still alive. She’s on borrowed time.

The uncomfortable silence grows. It’s only been a week, but Leia knows Luke won’t be the one to talk first.

“How did you know General Kenobi?”

He’s upset by the man’s death. If he could bring back happier memories, maybe the pain would lessen. ( _If only Leia could convince herself to do the same._ )

Luke hesitates, “He lived near my aunt and uncle’s, stopped by occasionally when I was younger. He was friends with my father, although I didn’t know it until too late.” His last words come out bitterer than she’s heard from him in their short acquaintance.

“You lived with your aunt and uncle?”

“They took me when my parents died. Raised me my whole life.”

Add adopted to their growing list of similarities. She can’t understand it, but just being here, talking to Luke, it feels as though a hole in her life is filled. Not father and mother, not Alderaan, but something equally important.

“When did they die, your aunt and uncle?”

Can one orphan help another come to terms with being alone? Leia thinks it is probably an overly simple assumption, but she will try anyway.

“The Empire came looking for R2 and 3PO –”

Luke chokes slightly; Leia feels something rise in her throat. It was her fault, just another stupid thing that went wrong, and he wants to help her in spite of it.

“– They burned everything.”

Leia’s stomach churns, “I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You saw something worse.”

He sees their pain as equal, and for the first time since this nightmare began, Leia feels tears prick at her eyes.

“Besides, they hated the Empire as much as anyone else on Tatooine. Seems like the Empire would have found that as good a reason as any to –” He sits up from his work. “We’re doing this for them… right?”

She doesn’t agree; they’re doing this for _others_ , but their dead may be among them.

“Right.”

It is all she can say.

She sees Captain Solo in the distance. She has no desire for him to see her like this, and she’s been away from the meeting far too long.

“I better be going. But thank you, again, Luke.”

“Not a problem.”

It is a beginning. Leia walks back, collecting herself outside the door. She’ll cry for them tonight, let everything out. But for now, she has to see to her people.

\----------

When the euphoria of hitting the Empire where it hurts fades, Han looks at the cases of credits in the smuggling hatch. He is going to be in so much trouble.

Chewie grumbles from behind him, telling him to make a decision.

“Sticking with these idealists isn’t gonna make us money.”

Chewie’s not going to fight him on this, because Chewie, idiot that he is, has the same blinders as the Rebels and their noble, lofty Cause.

Han replaces the hatch door.

The worst part is after _seeing_ the kid take down the Death Star he might sort of be a believer.

_Sort of._

And now he feels responsible for Luke, even though he owes him. He’s got no one and someone has to look out for him, although Her Royal High-and-Mightiness seems to have it covered. Han needs to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid on _that_ front either.

He’s not one for reasoned decisions, but there’s also something to be said for hiding in a sea of targets. The Princess already has a large price on her head; Luke gets an even larger one. Han will look small by comparison, and for the first time, he’s glad he’s not the most notorious person in the room.

He still needs to be wary; Jabba’s bounty hunters will be sniffing around. He’s sure of that.

He idles, to no real purpose. It bothers Princess ‘Who asked you?’ enough to summon him to Command. Probably to boot him out of her hangar, but she’s crazy if she thinks he’s going anywhere.

“I’m not joining your army.”

She looks up from her datapads, mouth a thin line.

“But you are staying.”

“Only until I have to be somewhere else.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I expect nothing less.” Returning to her datapads, “I’ll have an assignment for you and Chewbacca by the morning.”

“I’m not taking orders from you.”

A storm brews behind her eyes, but her tone remains even, “Unfortunately for you, since you’re not joining the Alliance Forces, you will be reporting to me. If your mission falls under military jurisdiction, you may work with a general, but it all comes back to me. This was my father’s work, I intend to see it finished.”

He wonders if she invoked her father to make him feel guilty because it worked. He shifts his weight on his feet.

To the ground, “This better be worth my while.”

“Oh, I’ll make it.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say her tone was almost flirtatious. It’s probably a threat.

He breaks out into a grin when he leaves the room.

\----------

After Ben dies, Luke doesn’t expect to hear more about his father. He hates that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru lied, he can’t understand why they felt the need to hide the truth. Brothers fight, brothers resent each other, but it seems like a bit much.

So it is a surprise when an older man, new to Command, approaches him one day, claiming to have known Anakin Skywalker.

“Well, not _know_ , but most of the galaxy knew him by his daredevil reputation. He and General Kenobi and the GAR came through my home system and outfitted us against the Separatist Army. Talked to him a couple of times. Seemed like a good man, shame about Vader.”

Luke’s heart is too full to say anything else.

That evening, he goes to sort through records, see if there’s any Republic carryover in the Alliance’s files.

Leia leans over his shoulder, “We don’t have anything. The Empire’s too good at destroying all traces of people they don’t want to have existed.”

It dawns on him, “Ben served your father at the same time, maybe my father did too. Did he ever say anything?”

She smiles sadly. ( _She must have asked her parents the same questions about her unknown family._ )

“No, my father never mentioned Anakin Skywalker to me. Besides, I don’t think I would have listened. Military history is not a strong point for me.”

Luke nods, deflated. He only has slivers of the picture of who his father was.

He imagines his father gave Darth Vader one hell of a fight.

( _He’ll never be good enough, but he wants to do the same._ )

\----------

Finding more allies involves speaking to people they’ve already pleaded with, making promises they only hope they can keep. Potential allies are heartened by the destruction of the Death Star, but hesitant that the Alliance can keep up the momentum.

Leia can’t disagree with their logic, but they _could_ keep it going if they would just join. She argues with a defector from an old Mandalorian movement for an hour. They refuse to see only talking will get them nowhere.

“What about the Separatist Rebellion? Two organized armies joining would be a mark of strength to a lot of systems.”

Vaden shakes his head. “Army? They’re terrorists.”

Imperial propaganda calls the Alliance terrorists now, where they ignored them before. It is not an ideal mode for ending the Empire, but it serves.

Vaden continues, “Your father tried to reach out to them countless times and never had much luck. Even when cooler heads prevailed, there was a commander who had enough sway to get them to ignore your father. I doubt he’ll want to listen to an untried princess.”

She chafes at the implication, but does not fight him. ( _She still sends out intelligence officers, to find a way to contact them, if she must._ )

It is not all hopeless. Mon Calamari, led by Admiral Ackbar, seeks them out after driving a decades-long Imperial occupation out. Leia is glad for another Clone Wars veteran in their ranks: too many of them have died off and too many of their troops, like her, were born in the last years of the Republic, all young and untested.

Even better, the admiral promises a navy, as soon as their shipyards are in service again. It could be years, but it’s something. At least they’ll have replacement fighter parts within the month.

\----------

Being with the Alliance begins to feel normal. There is routine. Luke wakes up early, goes to bed late. The Rebel fleet constantly needs upkeep and repairs, with the occasional modification. There’s piloting drills, patrols, and training new recruits. Leia’s R2 unit is a source of endless, colorful entertainment.

He gets used to the stares and the pointing, the questions as to how he did it.

Simple: he practiced a lot because there was nothing better to do on Tatooine.

The Force had nothing to do with it; Ben was a figment of his imagination. He holds to it; sStubbornness is something learned from Uncle Owen.

He keeps his father’s lightsaber hooked to his belt, in anticipation of something.

After a few months, it occurs to Luke he’s a senior pilot. The new pilots aren’t improving fast enough, and if the new Rebel base is hit by TIE fighters or, worse, star destroyers, their fighters won’t be able to cover the evacuation.

Death would be inevitable, but it would be worthy. At least he’d be among the stars Aunt Beru always told him stories about.

It is a truly desperate cause he has joined.

Luke sits with Wedge Antilles in the mess, idly picking at his rations. Since Yavin, they’ve become close, bonding over the terror that was the Death Star trench and the reality they were the only two who made it out.

“We should think about putting together an elite squadron, one that can actually take on Imperials, not just recon.” says Wedge.

Leia walks by, smiles at Luke, but moves on to sit with the rest of Command.

Slightly dazed, “What was that?”

Wedge rolls his eyes, but repeats himself, “We need to organize the few of us who can actually fight without getting blown to bits.”

“Because sooner or later, they will catch up with us.”

Wedge nods.

Luke begins ticking them off on his fingers, “You, me, Derek, Zev, Ninora, Wes.”

“That’s who I was thinking of too.”

“We’ll need to cut corners on regular drills. Command won’t like it.” There are only so many hours in a day, and each one is precious, even those for sleep.

“You can talk to the Princess about that.” There is a laugh behind Wedge’s words.

Luke stabs furiously at his freeze-dried peas.

Chewie sits beside him; Han takes a seat opposite him, next to Wedge.

Luke wonders why Han has stayed on as long as he has. Definitely not the money. Han glances up to the Command table. It’s not Leia either, even though Han vehemently denies any interest. ( _Han lies and it relieves Luke, though not in a way he expects._ )

He wants the Empire gone; he’ll not deny that.

“Either of you want to join our new fighter squadron?” Wedge asks.

“And have someone steal the Falcon? No thanks. We’ll leave the dogfights to you waywards and rogues.”

\----------

Han’s sweating down the back of his neck, although no one would know it.

The TIE fighters are sufficiently distracted by the Alliance’s own. The Falcon was put in charge of leading the tiny fleet’s move to a new system; Imperial attack was not a part of that plan.

Rieekan’s voice crackles over the comm, “Two ships are missing.”

“We’re heading back General.”

He reignites the hyperdrive and switches off the comm before someone can tell him to get his ass back on the line. As long as they don’t exit hyperspace on top of the fight, this should be okay. Chewie looks at him like something’s changed, but it really hasn’t.

It was his assignment, and if those two ships don’t come back, he’s in trouble. ( _Or in about as much trouble as the stacks of credits burning a hole in the hold._ )

Besides, Luke and the rest don’t need the added difficulty of covering defenseless ships.

There are more TIE fighters than when they left and the Alliance X-wings are barely covering the two stragglers.

“How do you propose we get to them?” he asks Chewie.

Cutting through the fight would be the fastest, but riskiest.

“Sounds like the best option, then.”

Were it anything else, Chewie would groan.

They weave and duck through the firing fighters, leaving the comm off. They don’t need to hear that they’re making it difficult. It’s already difficult enough. Neither he nor Chewie go for the guns; they both need to account for flying or the whole thing’s going to hell.

A blast hits the larboard side. No knowing if it was friend or enemy, but Han convinces himself it was the latter. Something smells like burning, but as long as it’s not an electrical fire, they’re fine. And as long as it doesn’t screw with the return flight.

They make it to their missing vessels; Han hits the comm switch. There is a barrage of angry shouts from pilots whose fight they just made a lot more interesting and from the captains of the ships they’re supposed to be rescuing.

He yells, cutting them all short, “I don’t want to hear it! You’re following me around the planet and we’re going to the short-range emergency rendezvous! Yes, you too, hotshots.”

The remaining Alliance ships and fighters are as done with this party as he is with being in charge of it and follow. There is a smattering of firing from the Imperials, but they make it to the first point and the second, mostly in one piece.

They land planetside and disembark.

“Fleet’s present and accounted for,” Han reports to General Willard and the rest of Command, although he really doesn’t know how Rogue Squadron fared.

Leia is uncharacteristically pale and something lurches in his gut.

Antilles catches up to them and reports that the reduced number he came back with is accurate.

“Cost of war,” says an admiral.

It feels like a damned pointless cost most of the time.

\----------

She’s not entirely convinced she likes Han, but he’s proven time and again he can be a good person. His loyalty to Luke is touching, if nothing else.

There are the days where his hanging around isn’t the worst thing in the galaxy.

They come back from a recon in high spirits. Leia spots them down a corridor and when they notice her, Han gets a glint in his eye and raises his brows suggestively at Luke, like she can’t see him.

Luke says and does nothing; Leia wishes he would retaliate.

And then there are the days she wants to murder Han.

\----------

She’s not listening to him. Han wishes she wasn’t so stubborn, but he’d hate it if she wasn’t.

“Picking a permanent spot isn’t going to do us – _you_ – any favors.”

Too late, he’s made his mistake, but it proves she’s hearing, even if she won’t do anything to stop the Alliance from getting themselves into huge trouble.

“So it’s _us_ , now is it?” her inflection as sharp as a knife.

She is going to hold this over him, this exasperating girl ruler. She’s a tyrant only to him. He wishes she would just crack, just admit that she likes him. It would make things a lot easier. Maybe he could even move on with his life.

Nah, he’ll stay like this forever and be okay with it.

Putting on his smarmiest voice, “You’ll have to get your crown readjusted, princess, if your head’s gonna swell and think there’s anything between us.”

In an overly-fawning tone, “You’re right. I’ll have it sent to the jeweler’s this instant.”

It sort of freaks him out.

She rises to her full height and steps towards him. If she’s trying to intimidate him, it’s kind of working, even if she barely reaches his chest.

He won’t back off. He’s not going to lose.

“If the Alliance settles on a permanent base, they’re dead, you’re dead. _I’m_ dead.”

He believes his own words because he’s never let himself live somewhere for too long. But now he’s let himself live with some people for too long.

She’s listening now. “Consider your suggestions taken under advisement.”

There was a strange glint in her eyes when he mentioned his death.

Oh, fuck.

\----------

Luke finds that he likes living. He promised himself ages ago that he’d help end the Empire for the sake of his long-gone loved ones, but he tries to live now too, even if the life he chose feels more like death most days.

Praying to the Tatooine sun gods feels insincere.

He tries reaching out to the Force, to see if it can offer any affirmation that his survival thus far has been worth it. It doesn’t, but he still tries it anyway.

He occasionally flies on the Falcon with Han and Chewie. Despite the fact that the freighter really is a piece of junk, it is a respite of sorts.

Rogue Squadron is the only one that doesn’t have a one hundred percent casualty rate. They lose good men and women, but slowly, pilots from other squadrons are promoted to their ranks. It takes a lot of pep talks with the others to convince them this will all be worth it.

The problem is they’re all as sick as he is of hearing about the Death Star. The only major victory the Alliance has secured recently is that they’re still holding together somehow. ( _It’s all Leia’s hard work._ )

“This war will start going our way once we’ve got Ackbar’s fleet,” Wedge tries to encourage them.

Luke is one of the first to test the recently-acquired airspeeders. The new kid, Dak, begs to be his gunner. Ninora recommends he take a better shot, but Luke likes Dak’s enthusiasm. It makes work less monotonous, makes it feel like they aren’t facing an endless, impossible task.

He sees Leia less often, and she seems bowed by the weight of it all.

He shoots her an encouraging smile.

They will make it through.

\----------

Luke’s a good pilot, there’s no denying the jumped-up claim he made over two years ago, but Chewie’s better in the co-pilot’s seat.

Han likes having Luke on the Falcon though. It’s a comfort to have at least one of the guns manned.

They land on Ord Mantell and begin the search. Their regular suppliers are falling short of their quotas, so General Rieekan gives them a list of parts to scavenge for. Any trouble and they are to head back for the fleet immediately.

The Falcon’s become one of the Alliance’s secret weapons and it would make Han feel smug if it didn’t also make him feel even more possessive of her. Command takes for granted that he’ll be leaving any day. ( _He’s been saying that to himself for over a year._ )

Chewie growls that the smog is too thick.

“We’ll go fast then.”

The three of them move in opposite directions.

The above-it-all Rebels resorting to real crime: it shouldn’t, but it makes Han a bit giddy. _This_ is his calling, what he’s known best since he was a kid.

He finds out-of-date cup-links that might fit in even more out-of-date liners. As he collects them, an unusual red light glows from further within the trash heap.

Then the trash heap fires at him. Han drops the cup-links, grabbing for his blaster, but someone shoots from behind him. The shooter falls back.

Chewie barks at him to get moving. Han doesn’t need to be told twice.

He looks back at the would-be assassin, their hand to their shoulder. He recognizes him. That it’s taken Jabba this long to get one of his bounty hunters to track him down is nothing short of miraculous. But then, his reputation in the Alliance is a little too big again.

It’s time to think about cutting loose and heading back to Tatooine, to look for paying work again.

\----------

Leia stands with the deck officers, overseeing the offloading of their ships. 3PO rattles on about the average planetary temperatures and the horrors it will wreck on his joints.

“If our droids aren’t working properly, how will the rest of our equipment fare?” she asks a technician.

“If we keep deep enough in the base and install enough heaters, we should be okay. It’ll make us pretty visible on scanners though.”

Functioning ships and intelligence equipment outweigh the chance of being spotted. Almost all their scouts, Luke included, are confident the Empire won’t consider this miserable little system.

The base doors close for the night as the wind picks up. Leia shivers.

Snowstorms on Alderaan were not this bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
